The Game
by Misholinchi
Summary: Hermione wants something she can't have, but when did that ever stop her? [POV]


**A/N: **The Golden Trio is in its sixth year at Hogwarts. Snape is still teaching Potions.

**Warnings:** a sexually charged fic with a lot of language. Beware – smut ahead. Also, Ron Weasley's fans be careful – he is not my favorite character, and especially not in here.

Otherwise – enjoy the story, and please comment, as comments are greatly appreciated :)

* * *

**Chapter 1. An Invitation to Play.**

**Severus**

My head is going to burst into a million pieces. I thought I was used to migraines by now, but this is almost intolerable. My blood is boiling hot. I feel as if someone is actually frying my brain, though that very well may be true. These few days have been rough – with Voldemort rioting all over England and Scotland, murdering every living soul on his way... It seems at times, that this blood thirst of his is impossible to satisfy. Even the most loyal of his Death Eaters are walking on eggshells, and I have less than my own shadow to balance on.

Nothing helps from this pounding in my head. There are only so many potions I can take, especially when I know that all I need are few quiet hours of sleep. But that is an impossible luxury for me now, and if only this migraine would stop even for a second!

I cannot show it though, not a muscle must twitch. If the students see even a second of weakness, they will get out of hands immediately. I raise my fingers against a pulsating temple, rubbing it as discreetly as I can. My hands are cold – thank Merlin for the dungeons! Or Salazar, I should likely be thanking him for this cold choice of temperatures. Twenty more minutes, and that is it. This torture of a class will be over. Twenty more minutes, and I'll be able to summon some coffee. Coffee is all I need, really, to get to the end of this day.

I slowly walk the rows of students. Back and forth between the tables. If it were Hufflepuffs or Ravenclaws, they'd be doing their assignments quietly. But my luck betrayed me, and when didn't it, if honest? As if Gryffindor isn't insufferable enough, Minerva had to pair them with Slytherins. A deadly mixture, and not a class goes by without something happening. Even now, Longbottom's potion is brown instead of blood red, and Goyle's is… green? Merlin, their moronic inability to follow simple instructions is going to kill me one day. The Dark Lord would laugh himself dead if he heard it.

Oh, how ridiculous are these six-years in their attempts to cheat! I thought I made myself clear the very first day, but no… My own, Slytherins, though what else can be expected? Dunderhead fools. It used to anger me more in the past years, but now I have other things to anger about. Still, the students seem to be forgetting who I am. This farce should be put to order… now.

The so-called Golden Trio is sitting together again. They usually sit at the very last table, probably thinking, that I don't see them passing a piece of parchment to each other. And what are they up to now?

Potter and Granger rolled their sleeves up, slicing and dicing the manticores. You should slice under a certain angle Potter, then the juice won't be all over your uniform. If you can't follow my instructions, follow Ms. Granger's – she whispers quite loudly… again. Albus, who are you putting your faith in? The girl has some intelligence to her at least, but the other two are nothing but underage idiots with straw for brains. Now that you are dying, Albus, and we both know you are, how are you hoping to see Potter defeat the Dark Lord? He is weak, and arrogant, just like his father.

Ronald Weasley is scratching his parchment with an absolutely indifferent look. Taking notes, are we? Should I be impressed now? No, the empty-headed idiot of a wizard is drawing! Two letters: "HG". Understandable, indeed. His quill scratching against the parchment is making my migraine even worse.

Ms. Granger notices my presence first. She raises her hazelnut-colored eyes at me – insolent witch! Being McGonagall's favorite won't help you now.

"Ten points from Gryffindor."

"Professor Snape!" Granger looks at me without blinking. "Why?"

"Life is unfair, Ms. Granger. But that isn't something to be learned from books, is it?" I could see her cheeks flush in Gryffindor colours. She may cry for all I care. Weasley didn't even rise his head from the parchment. "I was, however, talking to Mr. Weasley. I don't believe the Auror Office is in any particular need for artists." Now the boy's ears are turning red, but he still wouldn't raise his head. Yes, I know of that career aspiration of yours, and who would be surprised? Remarkably, Potter is silent, though I can bet he has something to say.

Weasley tries to hide the parchment, and a second later I can see Granger trying to sneak it into her bag. Her eyes are teary, and her cheeks are still red, but her nostrils are flaring with fury. One more word and she will burst. Mr. Weasley, you shouldn't be hiding your eyes from me. Well, your beloved know-it-all will answer for that.

"Detention, Ms. Granger. Here. At eight."

"For what?" Potter couldn't contain himself.

"For being unable to get through one class without breaking the school rules. One more word, Potter, and you'll join your friend."

"It's alright, Harry," she says quietly, and then she… smiles.

If I wasn't your teacher, I would erase that bloody smile of your face in a glimpse! I nod at her coldly, myself I don't know why. Granger keeps looking me in the eyes, shameless witch, and then I see her sight slide lower and lower. I could feel my hand crunching in a fist. Bloody hell!

Stop. She is just a girl of sixteen. Or seventeen? No matter. Friendship with Potter and Weasley had obviously erased the last of her wits. A pity, truly. She bites her lip, and releases it immediately. If I hex her now, I will arrive in Azkaban a deal earlier then even I would expect. She keeps looking at me with those hazelnut eyes. Admiration? Bravo, Ms. Granger, very realistic. Surely a better half of male population in Gryffindor has fallen for that sight by now, and not only them.

"Time is up," I speak, though not loud enough, walking past the girl. "Submit your samples."

"Already?"

Mr. Longbottom, when will you learn? The day this misery of a wizard gives up Potions will be my lucky one.

"Get out of the classroom. Now!"

Too bad I couldn't let them go twenty minutes ago. I would have my peace, but Gryffindor would surely think themselves kings, as they usually do. Arrogant fools! There is real war behind these walls, how can these children be ever prepared for what's to come? I am loosing it, surely.

Bloody hell, hurry up! Few more minutes and I'll have to go see Pomfrey, and that means wasting at least thirty minutes on her repetitive lecturing on how I care nothing for myself. There is only one health to care for, Potter's health, but the witch doesn't seem to know it yet. This migraine is worse than yesterday…

Students begin to move, hustling parchments rustling like a beehive. Ms. Parkinson, clumsy as always, elbows a stack of books, and I seem to hear the sound of them slamming against the floor before the books actually touch the cold stones. Boom! Sharp pain thrusts again through my temples, head threatening to explode. When will the girl learn to watch her own step, and not Draco's?

Finally, the class begins to exit the room. How long can it take less than forty people to leave a classroom? Eternity, as it seems. Ms. Granger is still collecting her things, her potion on the desk before her. I should refuse to accept it and give her a "Troll", but Minerva will tear me to pieces for that. Granger waves her friends to go without her. The witch is up to something. She probably noticed my exhaustion and she is trying to use it. We shall see who prevails. I return to sit behind my desk and wait for when she will finally leave. With a lazy motion she throws her bag across her shoulder, picks up the vial with the sample of her today's work and walks straight up to my table.

"You have a headache," Granger says simply and hands me the vial.

She isn't asking, but stating it, as a fact. I nod to her automatically, without even noticing it_. It's the unexpected questions that people are more likely to answer truthfully to_, I see your point now, Albus. Granger looks at me long enough, but her eyes are impenetrable. That, or I am too exhausted to care. But I look at her and realize, that she isn't afraid to meet my gaze, as everyone else is. Also, I have not a clue of what she is thinking about. She has something on her mind, but what?

Ms. Granger nods politely and leaves the classroom. How foolish and reckless of me. She made some kind of move I can sense it, but what is her goal? She isn't the one to show off, not really. Plus if she wanted to show off, she would say it while the whole class was present. No, this behavior of hers makes no sense.

I am becoming absolutely paranoid. The witch had probably noticed me rubbing my temple, that's all. It isn't as if I have ever had a healthy demeanor about me though.

I look at the clock on the wall. The detention will begin in less than four hours. Oh, the bloody habits! Why did I even give her a detention? I could've just taken more points of Gryffindor. Ten point off each of them. That would have sufficed.

Summon a cup of coffee now, and another potion. I need to see to Albus' hand now, and that requires a dose of painkillers…for both of us. That folly with the ring will be the death of him, truly; and I sense that Ms. Granger can very well become the death of me.

* * *

**Hermione**

Indeed. I'm just so sick and tired of these green freckled boys. They don't even know how to kiss a girl – they either barely touch my lips or stick their tongue down my throat. With all that hand-grabbing and hair-pulling I wouldn't even consider any of them… and then there is Ron. He shows off like he is the Chosen One, and the perky gate-keeper attitude kicks in every other time. But all he is - a teenage boy who can't contain himself while a girl undresses. He is so boring; says me perverted for trying more than one position in bed. All I want is a man – someone who would take this control away from me, someone who won't bother asking me questions.

But there is no one like that. This is the only explanation why I keep staring at Snape like a madwoman. He isn't handsome or young, in fact, there are others way better than him. But every time he walks by my I feel shivers run under my skin.

He always dresses very conservatively: only black, though sometimes I can catch a glimpse of a white collar. His surcoat is always buttoned up to his throat, and that is bloody sexy. I can only dream about what his body is like. Those boys in cut-out shirts parading their biceps in Gryffindor commons can only attract those Patil sisters.

Severus Snape will be mine. I've been following him over a month now. He never smiles, though sometimes his lips twitch in some impossibly fast movement. When he thinks about something he presses the quill against his thin lips, but never bites its point. He prefers coffee to tea, and he is grumpy in the mornings. Simple.

Nothing can impress him, and nothing will. Whatever I do he'll stay cold and calm. But everyone wants to relax even for a second at these terrible times, and he is no exception. No one gives him such opportunity, but I will. I will walk him into trusting me. It is simple, if you think about it. Just a little attention, a little compassion… that's all.

I look in the mirror, brushing the hair away from my face. Unbutton the collar, and a little more, just enough to make him uncomfortable. Take the tie off, but the skirt – no shorter than it should be. Perfume with amortensia? Stupid girl, he is a potions master!

I need to create a distraction, but I can't come up with one… yet. If only he had some creature in his classroom, I could provoke it. Same way we did with pixies in second year. Ah, I'll have to improvise, but I know – I have to do it tonight. I'll never be brave enough again.

As I walk down the stairs, I can hear my heart pounding in my chest. What am I so nervous about? That's ridiculous, truly.

It's exactly eight. I knock on the wooden door.

As I enter I see him sitting behind his table, grading someone's papers. His sight glides over me for a mere second. There are no windows in the dungeon, but I can swear the sunset is over. Cold evening breeze would have braved me up, but I'm already in the dungeons. There is no way back.

* * *

**Severus**

She knocks on the door at eight sharp. That perfect know-it-all, she probably believes her timely arrival will lighten the severity of her detention. She doesn't know me at all.

"Come in."

Granger walks in slowly, almost tiredly. What, is this a trend now? She looks older then she is: white, almost pale, skin, long brown locks tied in a loose braid, her shirt unbuttoned at the top. She is a beautiful young girl, I have to admit, and she is trying to use it. Now that's a ridiculous attempt.

She acts as if uncertain, standing there at the door. Waiting for my invitation? Good. I nod to her, and as she approaches I can see her face in the dim candle light. Her big hazelnut eyes look exhausted, and I'm beginning to suspect there is something Potter is plotting that we all are unaware of. She walks up to the front desk and lays her wand on it; the slow mannerism of her moves is terribly annoying.

"Sit."

I stand up and walk to her slowly. What should you do? You're not squeamish, I am certain of that. So the punishment needs to be humiliating.

"Behind that door there is a lab. Not the one you practice in, but my personal one. There are some worms and slugs in there, very rare, my personal samples. I need them for my experiments."

She looks as if she is surprised. Why is that?

"My house-elf is sick, Ms. Granger," finally I see some resentment on her face. "And someone needs to clean their aquariums."

Nothing personal, girl, but I have to remind you who is in charge in this classroom. You're forgetting that being one of the best in your whole year doesn't let you bend the rules to your mere wish. Unwillingly, she leans to grab her wand.

"Leave it. You won't need a wand for this task," a pity, I can't allow myself even a shadow of a smile. "There are gloves on the table."

It's funny to see Ms. Granger act as if she cares nothing. I have to say, such facial expression suits her well. I wave my wand to open the door for her, and watch her closely as she enters the lab. Her eyes widen and begin to tear up from the strong smells.

There are four different species in the lab right now. Earth worms needn't much cleaning, same as the others. But the ones I really need her for are _mucum ignis,_ the fire slugs. They are quite big, the size of a human head, and dangerous. One can only touch them at the top of their heads, because every other inch of their bodies will cause a severe burn. They also move very fast, so she should hope not to let them out of the bowls.

I return to me table to continue grading third-year essays. Ms. Granger makes no sound, and I can only hear quiet rubbing and scrubbing. Good for her, it'll teach her to talk back to me. After about half an hour I hear her call on someone. But there is no fireplace in that room, so…

"Peeves, no! Go away!"

I rush into the lab, and all I see is that bloody ghost coming right through her. Her hands shake, and the bowl of fire slugs falls onto the stone floor. Am I cursed with this girl or what?!

"Ms. Granger, catch them!" I hear myself say, my voice slightly shaking. Peeves had disappeared by now, but I'll need to find him later - he's never come to the dungeons before. What is wrong with me? Granger is just a student, she shouldn't get hurt like that at Hogwarts, and there is enough waiting for her outside these walls.

She throws herself across the room after one of the slugs. A little too heroic for my taste, but who knows those Gryffindors? I conjure a new aquarium, so Granger can put the creature in. I wish I could just levitate the slugs into the bowl, but they are very rare species and using magic on them can be very damaging.

I spot one inside the shelves with their food, burning his way through wood. As I spring to grab him, I realize, that the girl has my dragon-skin gloves. Too late, I already took the thing into my hand automatically, and of course it just slipped through my fingers. The slug fell on the floor as waves of sharp pain went through me. That bloody thing burned by knee!

"Got him!" screams Granger, squeezing the slug at the top. She threw him into the new bowl, covered it with a lid, and words started pouring out of her. "I got them all. I'm so sorry, Professor, Peeves wouldn't listen, and I didn't have my wand… Your leg!"

"Get away from me, Ms. Granger!" I hiss at her. It wasn't her fault, not really. But now I can't get up without someone's help, and I don't want her to see it.

"Let me…" she steps closer. "Professor, you're bleeding!"

She sits right next to me, examining the burn. Now that is overstepping all boundaries! She bends over and I can feel the light sent of her hair. She smells like the sea, with a note of lavender. As if she just took a swim in the ocean. I wonder if her skin tastes of salt too… what am I thinking about?!

"It can be dangerous, Professor Snape," she speaks seriously, as if we are in class. Idiotic! "No, really, there is a hundred different illnesses you can get from it."

Girl speaks the truth, though the cases are quite rare. Why did she even think of it? The worst thing that can happen to me is septicemia, but I'll summon a potion against it as soon as she leaves…

"Let me walk you to the hospital wing. It won't take long, but it will help prevent all those nasty things."

Now I see why Potter needs Granger.

"It's useless," I say to her. "Madam Pomfrey went to London tonight, to visit her sister."

"It's alright," she says, and I realize her palm has been laying just above my knee all this time. "I know what to do. As, I'm sure, you do too."

"Fine," I snarl at her, though she probably didn't deserve it. "There are some healing potions in that cupboard on the left. I trust you'll be able to differentiate without the labels?"

I had to give in, though it's such a folly to waste time on a simple burn.

* * *

**Hermione**

Oh, did that cleaning idea piss me off! Though only for a moment. Thankfully, my plan with Peeves worked, and no one will think to check _Hermione Granger's _ wand for any Unforgivables. It even worked better, then I expected; that slug burned his leg, and allowed me to prolong our "date" for another half-hour.

My hands tremble as I rush to open the cupboard. Some bottles are very dusty and my finger leaves a mark on them when I glide it on them. Bloody non-labeling bastard! I glance at him over my shoulder.

Severus is sitting on the floor with his head against the wall. His expression is of pure boredom. His palm rests just above his knee on the injured leg, and I can see blood slowly spreading on the floor. If I could crawl to him and lick it off the stony floor… the metallic taste on my lips...

Where can that potion be? Did he hide it?.. Finally! Glass bottle with greenish-blue liquid inside. I open it, and I'm right – the strong smell of vervaine, just as it should be in a burn-healing potion. The cork slips through my fingers and falls somewhere on the floor.

"Found it?"

"Yes."

Strong scent of vervaine stirs around the room. How tempting: I could slip some amortensia in it, and it would go straight into his blood… But he'll feel the scent, I know he will.

"These slugs, they are from Western Africa, aren't they?" my voice is suddenly hoarse. Slowly I lower to my knees in front of him. "I read about them. Their slime can be poisonous during the new moon."

Snape gives me a disdainful frown. I can see him pushing his other leg away, so I won't touch it while applying the potion to his wound. But he is tired, and he doesn't want to talk. His collar is undone, and I can see the pale thin scar on his neck. Oh, how much I want to trace it with my tongue right now…

"Done," I stand up and put the vial with the potion on the table.

It's now or never. I turn sharply, lean toward him, lightly pressing my lips against his. Snape immediately pushes me away.

"What the… Granger!" I thought he would slap me then, so mad he looked, but he didn't. "Are you out of your mind?!"

He raises to his full height, and looks down at me, his eyes full of hate. And all I want is to kiss him again. I must have really lost my mind.

"Get out," he hisses at me, and I turn around and run, run to the Gryffindor tower, tears pouring down my cheeks.

* * *

**Hermione**

Beautifully pale skin as if shimmers in the shadows of twilight. His eyes are closed, and his eyelashes tremble, creating soft long shadows on his face. He is asleep, and I don't have to rush now. Although, all I want right now is rip this night clothes off him and trace his scars with my lips… but I won't. I'll linger just a little longer, drinking this sweet torment to the bottom of it. It is so easy to imagine: I can look at him, but I can't touch him.

I seem to dissolve into the air, as if I don't even exist. I want to reach out and run my fingers across his face, tracing his collarbone… but I can't feel my hands. I can look at him as if I'm in the air above, or vice versa, laying right next to him. His chest is raising slowly, heavily, and I can feel my heart beating in this exact slow rhythm.

Quiet knock on the door. I'm so tense, I only shudder, half-asleep. Am I only imagining it? No, someone is actually knocking. I'm tangled in the sheets, sticky with sweat, pillow on the floor, probably for a while now. Knock. Knock-knock. Bloody idiots, stop it already!

I jump of the bed, grabbing the towel I left on the chair in the evening. I wrap myself in it, rushing to the door. What if that's him? If only it were him!

Tall red-haired figure hesitating at the doorstep. Weasley.

"What?" I spit at him, annoyed. It must be three in the morning!

"I'm sorry, I didn't want to wake you."

I want to slap him hard, so the sound would bounce across the corridor.

"Come in," I turn away and walk into the room without even looking at him.

He sits at the very end of a chair, locking his palms together. He wears, as always, an old red sweater and jeans outstretched at the knees. Awful.

"I was talking to Lav today…"

Lavander? You lying arse! You fuck your Lav, and yet can't let go of me. You fantasize to love me, and come crawling to me once a month. Crawling right under me, disgusting. Is that whore on her period again? But right now this is just perfect. I can even say I'm actually glad you came by.

I approach him and gram him rudely by the wrists. In his eyes - naivety and fear - like the cattle that's led to slaughter. Why in Merlin's name did you come if not for the pleasure? Do you think I suffer from unrequited love to you, and you're doing some good deed? What a moron you are, Ron Weasley.

I pull his jeans off. Leave the sweater in place, I don't want to see his fat belly and unshaven red armpits. There are no boxers under his jeans. Did you just fuck Lavander and then came here? Disgusting! But this is not the time to think of it.

"Hermione, what are you…?"

What's that squeaking, arse?

"Shut up."

I push Weasley on the bed. He probably feels uncomfortable on the wet sheets, but he'll have to deal with it. I pinch his nipple, and he squeaks - sometimes I wish I could give him more pain, enough to kill him. I could cover his face with a pillow and never let go… Weasley is trying to say something, but I'm already riding his cock too fast. I can see something flicker in his eyes. Tears?

His sweater is pinching at my stomach and my thighs. Very unpleasant, but I only continue to ride him into the mattress. Harder, angrier, it's painful and joyful at the same time. I can feel waves of pleasure building up inside me, but they aren't rushing, aren't making me scratch my hands in a vain attempt to hold a cry back. That's not it! Bloody hell, that's not how I wanted it!

I climb off him. His hips are tight, hair so red, it's almost orange. I stand up and walk to the window, turning away. I can hear Weasley breathing heavily, his eyes probably watery as always.

"Why are you like that?" he asks. Again - naivety, and some childish resentment.

I laugh in his face. Because I want Snape, and I can't even touch him! Unfair? And what did you expect?

"Get out of here!" I hiss at him. Weasley is in a hurry to get into his jeans - they hardly slide onto his sweaty thighs. Zipping his fly up, he runs into the hallway. I think I heard him sob, or maybe it's just my imagination.

I walk back to the window and press my forehead against the cold glass - it quickly becomes misty from my breath. The fact that there is a whole world behind it seems genuinely astonishing right now.

* * *

**Severus**

Finish grading the papers, and make the slackers redo the assignment. And then make those insolent students brew the Living Death - let them have all the jolly of the world with it. There is a whole months before the semester ends, and they are already slopping around.

"...in less then a months from now. I want to hear suggestions."

Kingsley raises his voice a little at the end of his sentences. It annoys me a great deal. That can only mean that he wants our full undivided attention to what he has to say at our today's meeting of the Order of Phoenix.

Molly shrugs her shoulders, though I doubt that anyone had noticed her slight movement. She fears that someone would name one of her children, though no one would be brave enough to do that.

"It's dangerous," notes Dumbledore. He tries to press his palms together in one of his favorite gestures, but the tainted hand doesn't let him do it anymore. "I don't want to get the children involved."

"The war is roaring on us, Albus. They aren't children anymore."

"It doesn't matter, Kingsley," speaks McGonagall. "Albus is right, it's too dangerous. We can't just send a student off like that, even if it's only a few weeks."

"But no one will suspect a student! We just need to have a bloody intern with the muggle prime-minister who'll be loyal and smart enough to report if and when something goes wrong on their side. We can send Potter himself, and it won't matter a single bit!"

"Thank you, Kingsley. I'll think on it," Dumbledore knows, how to avoid conflicts. "Any other suggestions?"

"Colin Creevey," says Lupin. "That kid is smart."

"I agree, Colin is a good candidacy, Albus," Miverva nods, though I suspect it's mostly to her own thoughts.

"Why not the young Malfoy?" jumps in Tonks. "He could play for both sides like you, Severus, couldn't he?"

I raise my eyes to respond, but Dumbledore is way ahead of me, "I won't out the boy through more peril. He is going through enough already. I also suspect that young Mr. Malfoy knows little of working in a muggle governmental body. We need someone who would be a perfect candidate for them, and for us. Someone both smart and passionate…"

"Hermione Granger," I hope my malevolence isn't showing.

Soon the narcissistic self-centered witch will disappear away from my life. This plan they've come up with, it's dangerous, though I'm certain Ms. Granger will only laugh at the face of danger. But it's not in any way harmless, the girl has a good chance to parish forever if anyone recognizes her. Probably, I'd be glad if she did, maybe for the first time in my life. At least she'll be out of my way.

* * *

**Hermione**

It is strange: no sun above and the skies are grey, but I can't look up without squinting like it's a sunny day. The air smells of rain – it has been raining cats and dogs most of this spring. Even the sun seems wet, peeking from behind the heavy clouds.

I am pacing back and forth along the road that leads to the castle gates, just behind the wards. The grey stones are broken, and my heels get stuck in them with every step. It is becoming unbearable. He left an hour ago!

Heck, if someone saw me hanging out here, restless, they would have probably been hexed or even cursed right on the spot. It is all terribly humiliating.

It's been over a month now that my thoughts were completely consumed by Severus. I dream of him at night: his hands, his lips on me... Every time I walk down the hall I think I can hear the clicks of his pace right behind me, and… Of course, it's not serious. I know myself too well: as soon as I have him I'll want an end to it.

The skies begin to spit rain again, and the wet green of the trees becomes so bright against the grey skies – it hurts my eyes, and makes me want to through up. I open a black umbrella, and the world around me becomes somewhat darker. I can work with that.

Weasley was begging for forgiveness all morning: so pitiful and bitter. After all, it's a hundred times easier for him to blame everything on me. I remember a storm of emotions when we first kissed… and now there is emptiness inside me. Void with a touch of contempt, and, perhaps, pity. That's all that is left of Ron Weasley in me.

Oddly, I realize, a storm is coming. Unexpected. The skies darken, and rain began pouring harder, drumming loudly on the pavement, causing the water to bubble in the puddles. Wind is shaking the trees mercilessly. If it takes even a minute longer I am certain to catch a flu. And this rain seemed so warm and pleasant!

Finally I see Severus. He is walking on the pavement, head down, hiding his hands in the pockets of his billowing robe. I wonder, why is it billowing if he is soaking wet? Some kind of charm, or simply my imagination? And I can see it – he is wet, water running down his long black hair, and Snape shrugs and begins to walk even faster. I know he is coming back from Voldemort. Dumbledore's request? He is exhausted, but that's exactly what I need.

Snape seemed to notice me only when he actually ran into me on the pavement. He stopped and looked at me, his gaze, though tired, piercing through my skin.

"One may think you are following me, Ms. Granger," he says quietly.

"One may," I nod at him. "Still, you are not in a position to refuse an umbrella."

He snorts at me and begins to walk away.

"You won't leave me in peace no matter what I say, now will you?" he says without so much as turning to me. He knows too bloody well I'm walking right beside him!

But I will suffer this insult and many other. All because I've already caught him in a corner. I can feel it with every square inch of my skin. His uncertainty, his lack of hope, and even his despair. He will fight it. He won't give in easily, no, his pride won't let him. But I only need to push a little harder, and then…

I catch up with Severus and walk right beside him. The rain is pouring hard and my umbrella is completely useless. Drops of water are pouring under my collar and down my back, making me shiver. Or is it just because he is so close?

"Is it Voldemort?"

"Don't say his name," he cuts me off sharply.

"The Lord then. Is it all him?"

Come on, talk to me. Tell me how the Dark Lord is a stubborn brat, and how your voice is hoarse from talking half this day with him under this rain. Tell me how you're tired, and how you only want to get to your rooms...

"Be more specific, Ms. Granger. If you are asking whether the Dark Lord is the source of all evil, then yes, he most certainly is," Snape looks at me, and I can swear he is almost smiling.

Of course you won't tell me. You won't complain to me. But anyone can get over their pride, see, I am doing it for you.

We can now see the Hogwarts castle in its full glory from all the way here. It's almost twilight, and the first lights are sparkling in the windows. They seems so cozy and warm from here. I shake my head, trying to put my hair back, but that seems quite useless now.

"Do you know how to use an umbrella, Ms. Granger?" Snape stops and looks down on me. I can see his hands shivering lightly. Wet strand of raven-black hair is stuck to his check, and I subconsciously reach out with my palm to remove it. Severus slightly winces, but doesn't push me away, staring straight into my eyes.

I step closer to him. The wind is strong, it is tearing the umbrella out of my hands, bending it as it pleases. And then I let it go, and I can hear it roll on the road, scratching the wet rocks. The rain is now pouring down my face, my hands, down my spine. I press myself against Severus, and I hear him exhale slowly.

I stand at the tip of my toes and kiss him on the lips. Tender, even too tender, I would want to do it differently. His lips – thin, cold, wet from the rain.

Someone can see us, but I couldn't care less now. The sweet pleasure is spreading in my veins like the strongest drug, and I allow myself to close my eyes, which I never do. That is it, now he is mine – mad, wild jubilation.

But Snape pushes me away lightly and steps back.

"What are you doing?" he doesn't look at me, and I need to see his eyes right now.

"I love you. No, I want you. Why in bloody hell does it matter?" I can't hide my annoyance. He was so close, and now he is kilometers away. "I want to see you tonight," I know I'm pushing my luck, but I can't just let him go.

"No," Severus speaks sharply, but he still doesn't raise his gaze.

"Why?" I must come off like a child now.

"You must be absolutely mad," he finally looks at me, his eyes full of fury, and I am happy. Not indifference, not hate, not fear. He is just angry.

"If anyone ever finds out…"

If only you knew how in love with you I am right now!

"…we will both be dead."

I don't care.

"These kinds of relationships are prohibited since the Founders, Ms. Granger."

"That's ridiculous," of course it's ridiculous! What did those old bigots know of relationships?

"In any case, this is the end of discussion," Severus takes his soaking wet robe off, staying in a black surcoat. He throws it over his hand, nods to me, and turns away to walk to the castle.

I feel so hot, I notice neither the rain, nor the raging wind. Fine, let's say you won this round. But you should know, Severus, you've lost this war by joining my game.


End file.
